


a continuation

by epoenine



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blasphemy, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” says Aziraphale, distantly. “Is there something--?”</p>
<p>Crowley interrupts before the question is out. “You can’t run from it forever, you know. You’ll have to tell me why you asked me over sooner or later, and I’d rather it be the former, because the suspense is killing me, angel--”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a continuation

Aziraphale’s face is flushed and his eyes are bright from the wine Crowley offered him, which might have been a bad idea in hindsight, since he has no idea how to go about courting the demon and especially not while he’s tipsy.

He’s picking up their dinner plates and setting them in the sink, washing them with his cheeks stained red. He can feel Crowley’s eyes on him from where he’s moved to stand at the counter, yellow irises with narrow black pupils lingering on Aziraphale’s soft frame.

“Why’d you invite me to dinner, angel?” Crowley asks, his voice low and his eyes unblinking.

Aziraphale shrugs, still turned away, occupying himself with rinsing the plates and wine glasses even though he could just Miracle the mess away. He needs something to do with his hands. “We always have dinner together.”

“Never on Fridays and never at your home,” explains Crowley, who’s becoming more and more skeptical of Aziraphale’s intentions. “What’s the real reason?” Again, Aziraphale shrugs, grabbing a hand towel and drying off his hands. “Are you getting Reassigned? Did something happen with--”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Aziraphale says hastily, his eyes wide. “D’you want some more wine? Coffee?” he asks, just to keep busy, just to stall, just to buy more time.

“No, thank you,” answers Crowley.

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, distantly. “Is there something--?”

Crowley interrupts before the question is out. “You can’t run from it forever, you know. You’ll have to tell me why you asked me over sooner or later, and I’d rather it be the former, because the suspense is _killing_ me, angel--”

It’s Aziraphale who cuts him off with a quick, nervous press of lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wide and anxious, waiting for Crowley’s reaction, which is just slowly blinking, like he can’t really process this.

“Oh,” Crowley says after a while, his voice hoarse. He’s staring at Aziraphale like he’s meeting him for the first time and like he’s known him forever--which he has, really, it’s been six millennia and he can’t remember a time when he _didn’t_ know the angel.

Aziraphale is shaking, Crowley realizes, and it’s because he’s _nervous._ He figures he should probably do something about that, so he inches forward until their noses are brushing and their lips are a breath away.

Crowley kisses him, slow and deep and breathless, everything he’s held back for _six thousand years_ , and Aziraphale has fisted his hands in Crowley’s shirt, clinging to him for dear life.

Aziraphale pulls back to catch his breath and it takes everything out of Crowley to say, “You could have done this at the restaurant yesterday, you know, so I wouldn't have had a full minute of pure terror when I thought you were being Reassigned.”

Against Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale breathes, “Maybe I didn’t want it to end with just a kiss.” He presses their lips together again, inexperienced as he is, he’s a fast learner. The kiss has Crowley’s toes curling and making a noise that sounds almost like a whimper, but if you asked him he’d say it definitely was not.

“Oh, G-- _Someone_ \--you can’t just _say_ that, Aziraphale, subtlety is not your strong suit,” he says, and that has them both grinning, standing in the middle of Aziraphale’s kitchen until both of them realize there’s a much better place for them to be doing this.

Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s hand and starts towards the bedroom.

Crowley laughs, “Eager, are we? Isn’t this a bit fast?” he asks, his voice teasing because he’s not adverse to this idea at all.

For a moment, Aziraphale looks almost petulant. “It’s been six thousand years,” he explains, cheeks red and lip sticking out just so. “I think that’s a long enough wait.”

“Lead the way,” Crowley says, grinning, yellow eyes full of mischief. Aziraphale continues the walk to the bedroom, down the hall and to the left, where Crowley finds a full bed with soft sheets and a thick duvet behind the door, because Aziraphale is nothing if not spoiled.

Crowley kisses down his neck, gently biting once he finds Aziraphale’s pulse point. The angel gasps, hips involuntarily bucking up, dragging his erection across Crowley’s thigh with torturous friction that’s not enough.

He winds his fingers in Crowley’s hair, pulling him into a kiss as they walk across the floor of the bedroom, falling back onto the bed. As soon as they’re situated with Crowely straddling him, Aziraphale Miracles their clothes away without warning.

Crowley sharply inhales. Aziraphale smiles and kisses the shock of arousal off Crowley’s face. He rolls his hips upward, their cocks slick from precome sliding against each other, tearing a moan from the angel’s throat and a whimper from the demon’s, even though it is decidedly not a whimper.

They’re both so hard that it’s beginning to hurt, their hearts hammering in their chests as they take in deep, ragged breaths. Everything is a haze of love and lust and they can barely breathe, they can barely keep moving against each other, eliciting the sparks in their abdomens and the electricity along their spines.

Between kisses and grinding his hips down, Crowley breathes, “Oh, _angel_ , you’re lovely, you’re gorgeous, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen--” He cuts off with a groan, taking both himself and Aziraphale in hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aziraphale gasps, and that’s what does it for Crowley, hearing something so _filthy_ spill from the lips of someone so pure. He comes, shaking apart on top of Aziraphale, who's rutting against his thigh, letting out a litany of curses in his high-pitched voice, keening from the feel of it all.

They slump together, lazily kissing in the post-coital haze. Crowley uses a corner of the sheet to wipe them off, being exceptionally careful with Aziraphale. Bolts of heat shoot through him with every hiss the angel lets out, because it _hurts_ but it's good. He stretches out and presses a kiss to Aziraphale's cheekbone, content to lie there until their breathing evens out and they wake up to the golden morning light spilling through the window.


End file.
